


Extemporizing

by DanOfVulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Poetry, Tuckerreed, prose poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanOfVulcan/pseuds/DanOfVulcan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It calls out to me. It beckons me forward, like the song of an ancient, legendary siren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extemporizing

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative version of the second part of my Momentos Series.
> 
> I've mostly written poetry, in Portuguese, and love the prose poetry of Mallarmé and Cruz e Souza, so I decided to take a shot at a different perspective of that scene, and give it an even more intimate, poetic feel, and atmosphere.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.

                The undulating melodies, diminished sevenths arpeggios, heart wrenching cantabiles, interspersed with wobbling sections, blues not only in name but in feelings as well, sighing with such longing and want. Voluptuous chant of unquenched thirst, of need unsatisfied.

                _It calls out to me. It beckons me forward, like the song of an ancient, legendary siren_.

                Down the empty, chill expanse of the grey corridor, to the source of the sound I move, all but hypnotized. Those warm sound waves singing to me, about me? Perhaps. Or it is I who wishes they were singing about me, to me, letting me know of the deepest secrets of Trip’s soul? And, oh! How I wish they sang about me! For they become more intense, clearer, as I close in on them. As the cold, hard grey of the wall sets itself against my back, and I lean to listen to the pouring of feelings, of uttermost intimate being of Commander Charles Tucker III.

                A suspension. The fermata seems to last forever... And then it’s back, the longing, ever present blues and unrequited feeling.

_Is it? Why, then? What to return? What is it that he could long for so much? Tell me, tell me, Trip, what is it you long for? Let me look into your eyes, search your soul._

                An unresolved dissonance. It seems to end there, suspended; forever hanging, waiting for a resolution.

                Only silence responding to it.

                And slowly, steadily, silently like the answer to the dissonance, I make my way down the corridor.


End file.
